


Not Tonight

by TheNerdGlaze



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Foreplay, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-07 10:41:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/747594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNerdGlaze/pseuds/TheNerdGlaze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[AU- possible book spoilers]. Scared by the King, Sansa decides to ask Tyrion to finally consummate the marriage. It doesn't go as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sansa looked at the huge royal carriage leaving the Red Keep from the window. A thin layer of winter snow was covering the landscape. Winter had come, in the end.  
Joffrey, Margaery and half the court were heading towards Highgarden, to attend Willas Tyrell’s wedding. They would stay away from the city for about a month.  
Sansa loved wedding ceremonies (they were so romantic, after all!) but this time she was happy to have an excuse to stay in King’s Landing. Tyrion, her husband, the Master of Coin, had to stay in the city to sort out some problems with a Braavosi bank, and she caught the chance the stay away from Joffrey as much as she could.  
He was getting insistent.  
She thought that his marriage would have set her free from his unwanted attentions, but she was wrong.  
He was scared of Margaery. Well, maybe not scared of Margaery herself, but of her family. The Tyrells were everywhere: Loras was in the Kingsguard but he seemed to care more about the queen’s wellbeing than about the king’s safety. She had her handmaidens, her informers, even her soldiers. Joffrey couldn’t mess with her.  
So, he wanted to turn to Sansa, the poor Sansa, the traitor’s daughter, who had no influence, nor men, no little birds who whispered her secrets at court. No protection.  
True, she had her husband: his presence was still effective in making Joffrey stay away from her. The young king was afraid of Lord Tywin too; but both men were busy ruling the country, setting taxes, waging wars. She didn’t see them on a daily basis.  
Margaery didn’t really let her join her groups of cousins from Highgarden as she had when they thought she was going to marry Willas, even if she would be gracious enough to invite her in her rooms from time to time.  
But still, most of the time, she was alone.  
-I know you’re still a maiden- Joffrey had whispered to her the day before. She shivered when his plump, wormy lips touched her ear. Even his breath was disgusting. -I guess I’ll have to take care of it myself, when I’ll come back from Highgarden-.  
She panicked: she couldn’t let this happen. She’d rather give her maidenhood to The Hound (who fled the city during the Battle of Blackwaters), or to Ser Dontos (who disappeared the day of Joffrey’s wedding), or even Moon Boy. Anyone but Joffrey!  
She paced the room, nervously, like a lion (a wolf?) in a cage. She had to find a solution before Joffrey’s return.  
Sansa knew she had only an option: her lord husband, Tyrion Lannister. The Imp.  
She shivered at the very thought.  
She remember their wedding night: he was nervous, even scared, hurt at her rejection. And ugly, so ugly!  
Sansa had grown more or less used to his scarred face, his brutal brow and his mismatched eyes; after all, she couldn’t avoid looking at him at all times. But thinking about his stunted legs under his breeches, his disproportioned body and especially his revolting manhood still made her feel nauseous.  
But she didn’t have much of a choice. He was still the lesser evil, compared to Joffrey: she couldn’t bear the thought of becoming the king’s paramour, and lose what little dignity and respect she had left at court.  
Besides, the Imp would probably be gentler; he wouldn’t hurt her, at least not on purpose, and hopefully he’d be quick about it.  
Anyone but Joffrey, she thought again, hysterically.  
That night, she decided to wait for him awake.  
She hadn’t really talked to her husband for many months.  
Tyrion spent all of his time meeting taxmen and bankers, buried in his solar or in the crown’s vaults, trying to make the crown’s budget balance. She knew he was having a hard time replacing Littlefinger, who seemed to make money appear out of thin air. But Petyr Baelish had borrowed millions of dragons and now the creditors were starting to demand a payback. The Imp was racking his oversize head trying to find money. A Lannister always pays his debts, or so they said.  
He tried to get to know her better, during the first months of their marriage: he insisted they supped together and tried to make her talk about her day, but Sansa was too miserable and depressed. She didn’t want to have anything to do with him.  
She was feeling less desperate now, but her husband and she had found out that it was easier not to talk.  
They went to feasts together and she was by his side at any formal occasions. But other than that, they seldom met. They had learned to avoid each other, sliding through their shared rooms as if in an awkward dance.  
He came to bed only late at night, when Sansa was already asleep and he left very early in the morning. When she woke up, only the creased pillow by her side bore witness of his presence.  
Sometimes, it was easy to forget that they were married at all.

 

She waited for him for what seemed to be endless hours, growing more and more nervous as time passed.  
Her handmaiden, Brella, had helped her bathe and brushed her hair. Sansa wished she could confide her secret anguish, but she didn’t trust anyone. Besides, Brella was not very talkative. Sansa remembered another handmaiden, Shae, who was more witty, but she married a knight, Ser Tallad, the year before and left her service.  
What if he refused, she thought. No, he would never refuse to claim his rights. He probably didn’t have a lot of alternatives, ugly as he was. She was more worried about the actual deed.  
The Imp entered the room almost two hours after midnight, when she was half thinking that he wouldn’t come at all: he opened the door very quietly, carrying his boots in his hands, careful to make as little noise as possible. Sansa was in bed, reading a book she couldn’t concentrate on.  
He looked surprised when he saw the candles lit.  
-Oh.- he said –You’re awake.-  
-Yes.- Sansa replied, putting the book away. She wanted to add something, but she didn’t know what, so she simply stared at him.  
He changed his clothes for a night shift. His movements were stiff and Sansa realized that he probably was feeling self-conscious undressing in her presence. She kept looking at him, wondering how she could introduce the subject.  
“My dear husband, would you mind taking my maidenhood tonight? Quickly, please? Then we can go back ignoring each other. Thank you.”. It didn’t sound very ladylike.  
-Can I help you, Sansa?- he asked eventually, sounding perplexed. Sansa realized that she had been staring at him the whole time.  
-No, my lord… I mean, actually yes. You can.- she stuttered, lowering her gaze.  
He waddled across the room and climbed onto the bed. Why can’t he even walk properly, Sansa thought, feeling even more miserable.  
-I’m at your service, then.- he said, and looked up at her quizzically, waiting for her request.  
Sansa took a deep breath:- Joffrey says that everyone knows that I’m a maiden and this cannot be anymore and he says he will do it but I don’t want to but he’s the king and he’s crazy and I don’t know what to do so I think we should do it before he comes back from the wedding because we are married and we’ll have to do it sooner or later and you said we should wait and we waited so I think it should be tonight.- she paused- If you please, my lord.-  
Tyrion blinked and looked at her in disbelief. The lack of nose and the open mouth made him look a bit like a fish, Sansa thought.  
-What..?- he said eventually.  
Isn’t he supposed to be the smart one? Why did it have to make it more difficult than it already was?  
-I need you to take my maidenhood- she repeated.  
-Yes, I gathered as much, but what does it have to do with my nephew?- she noticed an angry note in his voice.  
She felt tears prickling in the back of her eyes:-Joffrey, he… he said he will… he’s crazy, you know?- she blurted out at once, regretting it immediately.  
-I know he is- he nodded.  
Sansa remembered Joffrey’s wedding. The young king destroyed her husband’s wedding present, a book, then mocked him in front of the whole court. She thought that Tyrion would have done something stupid, like slapping his nephew or treating him like a foolish boy as he had done before, but that time her husband managed to control his actions and his tongue. She didn’t forget what she saw in his eyes that time, though.  
-Joffrey is a lunatic- Tyrion said- but you mustn’t be afraid of him. He won’t hurt you. I will…-  
-No. No, you won’t.- she cut in - He’s the king! He’s not afraid of anyone, not even your father! He used to be but he’s not anymore! And we can’t leave the city, I can’t go away and… I won’t be safe until it’s done.-.  
Tears were now streaming down her face.  
Her husband didn’t say anything. She couldn’t read his two-toned eyes.  
-My lord- Sansa resumed- It won’t be… like last time. I will try, I promise. I’ll do what needs to be done to get through with it. Anything to get away from Joffrey, even…-  
He didn't even try to hide his bitterness: -Even me? Why, you must be really desperate.-  
Sansa didn’t meet his eyes. She couldn’t deny that .  
Tyrion shook his head, but spoke more gently this time:-This is… it’s not the way it should be. It’s not something you’re supposed to endure, you should want it…-  
-But I do want to…-  
-Not just rationally, as your best option. You should desire it. With your body as well as your mind.-  
They stood in silence for a while. Sansa didn’t know what to say. All the courtesies she had learned couldn’t do in this situation.  
-Let’ go to bed- he said eventually. They blew out the candles and tucked themselves under the covers.  
Sansa closed her eyes, but then felt Tyrion’s arm embracing her, making her turn towards him.  
He’s going to do it, she thought frantically. She knew that she was supposed to be happy that she convinced him, but she was just feeling terrified.  
He held her tighter, their brows almost touching.  
-You’re shivering- he noticed, and started to caress her arm and her back. Sansa was too nervous to move, so she just stood there, as stiff as a board.  
-Relax, my lady- he said after a while- I’m not going to take your maidenhood tonight.-  
-Oh.- she was probably supposed to protest, but she was too relieved.  
He kept caressing her back, her arms and her hair. She wasn’t used to being so close with Tyrion.  
It was better in the dark. “In the dark, I am the Knight of Flowers” she remembered him saying.  
He is so small, she thought. She could feel his feet against her knees. He was more or less as tall as Bran, the last time she saw him, when she left Winterfell.  
Bran had always been her favourite brother. She remember cuddling him, when he was little, comforting him after a nightmare. His hair smelled so good, like milk and butter biscuits.  
Tyrion smelled nice too, she had to admit. As all people in court he bathed very often (especially compared to Northern men, who couldn’t spare a single drop of hot water during winter), so he always had a clean scent. She breathed in and smelled soap, ink, sea breeze and freshly baked bread.  
She hadn’t had much human contact since Jeyne Poole was sent away: Margaery and her cousins hugged and kissed on the cheeks all the time, but Sansa always kept at distance.  
She didn’t understand why Tyrion wanted to be close to her, if he wasn’t going to do anything, but it made no matter.  
Soon, she drifted into sleep.

 

The morning after, Sansa woke up alone, as usual.  
She broke her fast then took a walk on the walls of the Red Keep. The castle was so empty, but she enjoyed walking in the yards without fearing to meet Joffrey.  
Later she went to the Sept and prayed. She did it out of habit, now. When her father was killed and Robb was at war against the Lannisters, she used to pray for his victory, and for the safety of her family.  
Years had passed since then, and her prayers were never answered.  
She didn’t know what to pray for anymore. She wanted Stannis to win, because he was Joffrey’s enemy and your enemy’s enemy is your friend. But she was married to a Lannister now and she wasn’t sure that Stannis would care about the difference between her and them.  
She heard rumours about a foreigner queen who owned dragons, but they sounded more like legends than real facts. Sansa often fantasized about Joffrey being burnt alive and eaten by a dragon. She liked the idea.  
She still liked going to the Sept, anyway: there was something strangely reassuring about the incense, the repeated prayers, the songs. It was easy to block all thoughts from the mind, and let the chants replace the actual thinking.  
She didn’t come back to her quarters until the evening and was surprised to almost collide with Podrick, Tyrion’s squire, who was carrying a platter with lamb in a herb crust in one hand, and a big dish with what looked like pies in the other.  
-My Lady. Sansa. Lady Sansa. Lady Lannister.- he greeted her, staring at some point between her feet.  
-It’s good to see you, Podrick. You’ve become very tall.- she said, politely.  
It was true: since the last time she saw him, he had grown at least half a foot. He was almost 6 feet tall, but still very skinny and painfully shy.  
-Is my lord husband supping in the solar tonight?- she asked.  
Podrick nodded:- No. I mean, yes. In the solar. Waiting. For you. I mean, for mylady.-  
That was unexpected: they usually had their meals separately, unless there was some event that demanded the presence of both of them. She remembered long, uncomfortable evenings from the first days of their marriage. There was a reason why they had stopped inflicting them to themselves.  
Sansa entered the solar, and found the Imp sitting at the table, reading a thick roll of parchment, and looking worried.  
He lifted his gaze when he heard her and he rose from his chair.  
-I thought it we could sup together tonight- he said, sounding hesitant- to talk-.  
-That's a lovely idea, my lord husband- Sansa replied, as it was expected of her.  
Actually, she didn't think it was a good idea at all. She'd rather have some fruits, bread and cheese to eat by herself before spending the evening reading a novel.  
Tyrion looked reassured all the same, so they sat and started eating.  
-How was your day?- he asked.  
Oh no, Sansa thought, here we go again. She half regretted talking to him the night before. She didn't want him to be her friend; she was perfectly satisfied in the way they had settled their household. Indifference was bliss to her.  
-It was good, my lord- she replied- Very peaceful.-  
An awkward silence followed.  
-Did you manage to find a solution to the bank problem, my lord?- she made herself say.  
Tyrion shook his head:-No, not really. We need to borrow more money, but we can't tax the smallfolk anymore. Winter has come, there's not going to be any crop for a while. The commerce is also at stake, because storms are blocking ships in the harbours. And now also the bank of Braavos is pressing the crown to pay its debts.-  
Sansa had never been very good with numbers and figures; Arya was much more inclined to those practical aspects of managing a household, she remembered with a pang of guilt. She didn't think about her sister as much as she should.  
But that, she could understand.  
-Pardon me, my lord but...the Lannisters are the richest House in the Seven Kingdoms. Surely, your father could lend you the amount of money that the crown needs...- she objected.  
Tyrion chuckled bitterly:-Why, yes, that's precisely what I thought too. Turns out that the most honourable lord Tywin is actually my fiercest creditor. He lent Littlefinger a fortune during summer, and now that it's winter he wants it back, with interests.- he gulped a glass of wine.  
-Truth is, he wants me to fail. He wants to show everyone that he has been right all along about me. He’s been trying to find a chance to get rid of me since the beginning.-  
Sansa paused to gather her thoughts for a moment. Lord Tywin's contempt for his youngest son was impossible to ignore. He didn't make much of an effort to hide it, really.  
Cersei downright hated Tyrion, and Joffrey... well, she often had the impression that uncle and nephew could easily kill each other, given the chance.  
Sansa knew that Tyrion was a Lannister. One of her jailers. She knew she couldn't trust him.  
But, now, she thought that he was a prisoner almost as much as she was. She remembered the way he was treated at Joffrey's wedding feast, forced to act as the King's cupbearer, laughed at by the whole court.  
She wasn't particularly impressed at the time (she was waiting to escape with Ser Dontos, which didn't happen eventually), too lost in her own misery to care about anyone else.  
But now, years later, the realization of how her husband's life must had been dawned on her.  
He looked… lonely. She realized that he spent most of his time alone.  
Except Ser Bronn and Podrick, who were at his service so didn’t really count, and Varys, who made sure to keep in touch with everyone, she had rarely seen him befriend anyone.  
At feasts, Sansa and Tyrion sat in a corner, and simply exchanged with the other guests the courtesies that were necessary. Avoided even by his wife, she thought with a pang of guilt.  
That made her feel a little more well-disposed towards him.  
The meal went better, after that. Sansa had never really talked to Tyrion before, and she realized that he could be very interesting. After years spent listening to the monotonous gossip of the Red Keep, it was like breathing fresh air. He had a gift for explaining complicated matters in a straightforward way, and Sansa found herself fascinated.  
He doesn't think I'm stupid, she realized. Cersei and Joffrey had told her how thick she was so many times that she had grown to believe it.  
She discovered that they also had interests in common. She had read all the novels that she had found in the Red Keep, and he... apparently he had read every story she had ever heard of. And he seemed to see them from a different perspective she had ever thought of.  
-I think that Florian was a bit of a creep.- he said, causing her outrage.  
-How can you say that?- she protested -That is one of the most romantic tales that were ever told-  
Tyrion smiled at her indignation:- I’ve been to Maidenpool, and I assure you: you don’t just pass by that pool. You have to go there on purpose. I wonder how many maids he had spied there. Perhaps it was a custom of his. Very creepy!-  
Sansa giggled:- I don’t believe you.-  
He theatrically put his hand above his heart:-I swear it, on my honour as a Lannister! And if you ever see a fool spying on you, be quick and call the guards before he has time to pluck his… harp.-  
-I gather you don’t like romantic tales, then?- she asked.  
He didn't say anything for a moment:-I guess I do, I just…. I think love should be... I don't know. More mutual, I suppose.-  
Sansa didn't know what to say.  
He looked out of the window:- We should be going to bed. It's past moonrise.-  
She hadn't realized how late it was.  
Sansa undressed nervously, without looking at Tyrion, shivering for the chilly air in the room.  
I wager he's going to do it tonight, she thought. Nothing stopped him. She even showed that she could be comfortable enough in his presence. What more could he want?  
Tyrion climbed onto the bed and blew out the candle. Then he embraced her again, just like he did the night before.  
He's about to do it, she mused. She could feel her heart beating in her throat. She wasn't as scared as the night before, but she still felt extremely nervous.  
-How much snow is there in Winterfell?- he asked, running his fingers through her hair.  
Sansa thought for a moment that she had heard wrong:-Excuse me, my lord?-  
He sighed:-My name is Tyrion, please. You can call me by my name, at least when we're in bed.-  
She nodded.  
-I asked you about Winterfell. I remember it as an imposing castle. I wonder what it would look like now, under the snow.-  
Sansa was confused: Septa Mordane told her everything about the joining of man and wife, and she was pretty sure it didn’t involve a lot of talking. What does he want?  
-We used to have snow, sometimes, during summer too.- said anyway - I would wake up in the morning, look out of the window and find all the towers covered in white. It was quite beautiful.-  
She had avoided carefully to think about Winterfell during those years. It was too painful. She would block all thoughts of home from her mind, otherwise they would make her burst into tears. But now she found she didn’t mind. It was a comforting memory.  
-It must be very cold-. His hand was rubbing her shoulder now. It would have been a pleasant feeling, if only she wasn’t so nervous.  
-Oh no. There’s hot water in the walls. It’s actually warmer than here.-  
She could feel his brow frowning:-Water in the walls? How is that possible?-  
Sansa tried to remember. She had never been very interested in the functioning of the heating system, as long as her chambers were warm.  
-I think there’s a pool of hot water in the foundations.-  
-Where does the hot water come from? Is it heated with fires?-  
-No, it comes from the ground, it’s naturally warm.-  
She didn’t know if he was really interested in the pipes of Winterfell or if he just wanted to make her talk to ease her tension.  
Tyrion kissed her on the brow, then on the cheek, and then lightly on the lips. Sansa froze. It was the first time they kissed after the wedding ceremony.  
-Goodnight, Sansa-  
She didn’t answer for a moment.  
-But… aren’t we…?- she objected, feeling confused.  
Her husband yawned:- Not tonight. Get some sleep now, will you?-  
She heard his breath getting more and more regular, until he was definitely asleep.  
Her heart stopped pounding too, as she lied in bed listening to the sounds of the night.  
The air in the room was chilly, and it felt good to be under covers. She started to appreciate the feeling of warmth, and safety.  
Tyrion’s body was small but seemed to produce a quantity of heat, and Sansa found herself snuggling closer to him. He was warm and clean smelling.  
How was it possible that someone so ugly felt so good to be next to?

 

Almost two weeks passed. Without Joffrey, Cersei and all their horrible family, the Red Keep was actually a good place to be in. It was full or rooms, corridors, covered bridges, hidden yards, gardens.  
She had always been careful to avoid unknown paths (always fearing she might meet the King or one of his men that would bring her back to her rooms), but now she was curious.  
She knew that she was watched (there were always servants and handmaidens around, and the Gods knew how many of Varys’ little birds) but it still was a liberating feeling.  
Tyrion was always busy during the day, but they always met for supper: the evenings were not bad as they used to be. In fact she was starting to wait for that time of the day.  
She would ask the kitchen for specific dishes and choose the dresses that made her look prettiest.  
She didn’t mind being alone, but it was good to have someone to talk to, too. And Tyrion was funny, cultivated, interesting.  
But he wouldn’t have her maidenhood. He would kiss her on the cheeks and on the lips and hug her every night, but nothing more.  
Each night left her with a sense of relief mixed with frustrated expectation, and that made her feel even more confused.  
“Not tonight” he kept saying. But when, then?  
Am I not pretty enough? she would think, considering her reflection in the mirror.  
Why did she even worry? He was so ugly, he should have been more than content with such a beautiful wife!  
But then again, maybe he wasn’t so hideous after all. True, he was short and walked in that funny way, and his features looked somewhat squashed in, and then there was that gruesome scar… but sometimes, just every now and then, Sansa found herself mesmerized at how the candle light reflected in his hair.  
He had really beautiful hair: lighter than gold, plentiful, soft like silk. She knew because she ran her fingers through it a couple of nights before… she just couldn’t resist.  
Then, he had a rich, low voice. Funny how that manly voice could come from such a small man. And also his eyes, on a second thought…  
Sansa, what’s wrong with you?! He’s the Imp! The ugliest man of the Seven Kingdoms!  
She wanted to scream. Nothing made sense anymore.  
He doesn’t even kiss me properly, she thought, with annoyance and a hint of sadness.  
Part of her felt uncomfortable at the idea (He’s the Imp!), but she also wanted to know what it felt like.  
Jeyne told her everything about her first kiss. She kissed a squire, a Baratheon man, during their journey to King’s Landing. She told her about the strange feeling of his tongue and that it was awkward at first, because their noses kept colliding.  
At least she wouldn’t have that problem with Tyrion. Only a week before that thought would have made her feel miserable, but now it somehow made her laugh instead.  
Suddenly, a sinister thought crossed her mind: maybe he couldn’t perform his marital duties at all. He was all deformed, even his legs didn’t work properly, so maybe what was between then had issues too.  
She remembered that their wedding night he looked definitely… able, but a long time had passed since then. Who knew?  
She could still have her kiss, she decided. A real kiss.  
That night, she drank a couple more glasses of wine than she was used to, feeling bold and a bit wicked.  
When Tyrion kissed her goodnight, she placed a hand on the back of his head and held his face closer to hers, feeling his beard against her chin. Then she opened her mouth against his and hesitantly licked his lips, feeling the scar where a piece of his lip had been cut off. She wasn’t sure of what she was supposed to do next and hoped he did.  
He stood still for a moment and Sansa panicked: what if he had never kissed anyone, either? What if he didn’t know what to do next? Who would kiss the Imp, he is so hideous!  
But then she felt his tongue sliding inside her mouth: it danced with hers and tasted so sweet … Her own tongue was stiff at first, but after a while she relaxed and started enjoying the kiss.  
Sansa felt flushed and dizzy. Tyrion was a unexpectedly good kisser: well, actually she didn’t have much basis for comparison, but it felt so good… Instinctively she pressed her body against him and felt an unmistakeable pressure against her belly.  
He can!  
The realization made her feel part scared and part excited.  
Tyrion pushed her softly on her back and then shifted his weight over her. He wasn’t very heavy, really.  
It’s going to be tonight, she was sure. Maybe it wasn’t going to be that bad, after all.  
Tyrion kissed her on the neck and near her ears, sending a shiver down her spine, and he pulled him closer.  
There was something more urgent about his movements now: she could feel his heart beating louder than hers, while his hand traced a line from her neck to her arm and cupped one of her breast, grabbing more than caressing.  
Sansa let out a gasp and Tyrion rolled away quickly.  
-I’m sorry- he muttered, sounding breathless.  
-No. No. It’s fine, myl… Tyrion- she replied, not knowing if it was just a courtesy or if she was actually sincere.  
His touch had never been anything but innocent before and the sudden change had surprised her… but it hadn’t been completely unpleasant, either.  
He didn’t say anything, and Sansa started regretting her reaction.  
-Are you going to take my maidenhood now?-she said eventually.  
Tyrion sounded surprised:- No. Not tonight.-  
Sansa didn’t know if it was good news or not.  
-Can we kiss some more anyway?- she asked.  
She couldn’t see him in the dark of the room, but there was a smile in his voice.  
-As mylady commands.-

 

Later, when she was about to fall asleep, she thought that she’d like to tell Jeyne about her first kiss, but she hadn’t heard from her for years, since the King had sent her away.  
Then she realized that she hadn’t thought about Joffrey for days.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to CircusBones, Samyo and the guests that left kudos!

Sansa knocked on the wooden door.  
It was the first time she had descended in the dungeons, looking for the room near the vaults in which Tyrion spent most of his time.  
Truth was, Sansa had started getting bored.  
In the past three weeks she had read, explored the castle, sewed, even played the harp (which she hadn’t done in years), but she had grown tired of solitude.  
She smoothed the surface of her gown before entering the room, not knowing why she felt so nervous. Surely, she was allowed to see her husband in daytime, if she wanted to?  
-Sansa!- Tyrion exclaimed.  
It took her a while to distinguish his shape: the room was cramped, dark, windowless and completely packed with books and parchments.  
Every single surface was covered with open rolls, notes, ink and pens. Tyrion was hunched next to a candle, at a desk whose surface Sansa couldn’t see. There was ink on his hands, and he had a stain on his brow, too. For some reason, it made her want to smile.  
-My lord husband, I hope I’m not bothering you.-  
-No, no, not at all… How can I help you?-  
Sansa felt herself blushing, and didn’t know why:-Nothing, I just… I was just… wandering around the castle and thought I could pass by…-  
-Oh.- Tyrion looked dumbfounded for a moment, then pulled himself together.- Yes. Lovely. What a pleasant surprise. Here, let me just…-  
He rose from his chair and waddled across the room. He moved a handful of parchments to reveal a small chair and gestured to it.  
Sansa sat.  
-Can you ever find anything in this confusion, my lord?- she asked, watching her husband searching through piles of scrolls.  
-Absolutely. Everything is exactly where it should be. I have a method.- Tyrion answered, producing a flagon of wine and two goblets seemingly out of nowhere.  
Arya used to say the same. Tyrion’s cabinet reminded her of her sister’s room.  
Sansa picked up a book from the floor and looked around:-You need a bigger library my lord. A bigger room, actually-  
He smiled and handed her one of the goblets: -I don’t take much space. It’s one of the advantages of being a dwarf.-  
-But why don’t you use the solar? That’s its function.-  
Tyrion shrugged:-I’m comfortable enough here. It’s close to the vaults, so I have everything at hand.-  
He had been avoiding her, she realized. She could scarcely blame him: for all their marriage she had been distant and aloof, and she carefully prevented to meet him as much as she could. No wonder he had been doing the same. The idea made her feel slightly wounded, though.  
She sipped her wine. Her attention was caught by a parchment pinned to the wall behind Tyrion.  
-What is it?-  
-It’s just a drawing… it’s Balerion.-  
Sansa stood up and moved closer to the wall to see it better.  
It was a dragon: it was drawn by pen, only using black ink, but it was realistic, detailed and somehow vibrant.  
-Did you draw it?-  
-Yes. I was bored.- he added, as to excuse himself.  
She didn’t believe him: it wasn’t the scribble of a moment of idleness, but something done attentively, with care. Love, even.  
-It’s beautiful.-  
-Thank you. I’ve always been obsessed with dragons.- he confessed.  
Sansa thought about her fantasy of seeing Joffrey eaten alive:- Oh, I’d love to see one too.-  
Tyrion’s eyes glowed:-Really?-  
-Of course- she answered, studying the skin of the creature, where every scale had been patiently drawn.  
-Come with me, then- Tyrion said.  
Sansa was perplexed:-Where, my lord?-. There were no dragons in Westeros, it was a common fact.  
-It’s a secret- he replied in a conspirational tone, taking the candle from the desk.  
He guided her through the dungeons, through ancient, dusty corridors and hidden passages in the walls.  
When they reached a level where the light was scarce, he took her by the hand and motioned through the corridors with confidence, as if he had been there before countless times.  
Finally, he pushed an old, battered door.  
What was behind it left Sansa speechless.  
-These are the skulls of the Targaryen dragons- Tyrion explained, his voice coloured with enthusiasm- There are nineteen of them. The smallest are the most recent ones. That one over there is Balerion. He’s huge isn’t he? He could swallow a mammoth whole! Aegon the Conqueror rode him himself…-  
The skulls shined in the candlelight like black diamonds. The bones looked finely carved and yet strong, powerful, untouched by the years.  
Sansa touched one of them:-It’s warm!-  
Tyrion moved by her side:-Yes, they seem to absorb the heat. Look!- he touched one of the dragon teeth with the flame of the candle, and the bone seemed to shimmer from the inside. It was beautiful.  
-They like fire- she noted, then giggled nervously–It’s like they’re following me with the eyes, but there are no eyes!-  
-Yes! I have the very same feeling! It’s queer isn’t it?-  
Even in the semi-dark of the room, there was something luminous about Tyrion’s face. She sensed that he had wanted to share the experience with someone for a long time.  
He told her the stories of the dragons that lied there, then they sat inside one of the jaws (Vhagar’s, apparently) and talked until the candle burned out, so they had to find their way to the door gropingly, bumping into the skulls and giggling when they almost knocked one of the smallest down.  
They went back towards Tyrion’s cabinet, and they were still holding hands when they turned into a corridor and almost bumped into Varys. Sansa let go hastily, blushing furiously.  
-Lady Sansa, what a pleasure to see you.- he said softly. Sansa felt the intense lavender scent that always surrounded the eunuch.  
He turned to Tyrion: -I’m afraid I’m bringing bad news, my lord. A little bird has just whispered to my ear that an emissary from the Iron Bank is on the way to King’s Landing, and he will be here in two days-  
Tyrion’s face turned into the anguished expression that he seemed to have anytime someone mentioned a Bank:- Seven hells. So soon?-  
-I’m afraid so, my lord- Varys nodded –Is there something that I could do to help you?-  
-Do you have three million dragons at handy?- sighed Tyrion.  
They moved towards Tyrion’s room. Sansa didn’t know what was expected of her, so she followed.  
She noticed a small couch in the cabinet, covered with parchments. She moved some of them and sat.  
-Isn’t there any way for your lord father to help you find more money?- Varys asked.  
Tyrion shook his head:-That’s out of the question. We need to borrow from the Iron Bank, but they will never accept. When Cersei told them that the Crown wouldn’t repay the debt, they started treating us like dangerous debtors. It took me forever to re-open the negotiations. And we don’t have much warranty to offer right now.- he sat down and buried his head in his hands- If we don’t get the loan the realm will go bankrupt.-  
-Surely, lord Tywin wouldn’t allow that.- Varys said. Sansa knew from his voice that there was something implicated in his sentence.  
Tyrion gazed up again:- Surely not. He will find a better Master of Coin, that’s it.-  
There was bitterness, and misery in his words.  
-You will find another occupation, I’m sure- said Varys.  
-Oh definitely. I might become Master of Drains, I have an extensive experience on that subject. Or maybe, since I’m heir to nothing, I might just go and live in the woods and become an outlaw. I won’t even have to hunt, my very face will scare animals to death.-  
-It’s winter, all the animals are gone into winter sleep. You will end up eating the trees.- objected Sansa, without thinking.  
Varys turned to her, as if he had forgotten her presence and Tyrion looked at her, dumbstruck.  
Sansa wondered if she had been supposed to leave.  
-The trees- Tyrion repeated.  
He stood up and started pacing the room, apparently thinking hard.  
Sansa was embarrassed: -It was just… a bad jape, my lord.-  
But Tyrion took her hands and kissed them, then smiled to her:- You’re a genius, mylady!-  
He waddled hastily to his desk and started opening huge leather bound books, muttering to himself:-I have to check this… but… if we can ensure… yes. It might work…-  
Varys offered her his arm:- I think we best go, my lady-.

 

Tyrion came back to their shared apartments several hours later, to explain her his idea (“Your idea!”): Braavos was a city built on a lagoon and it had no trees at all. They had to buy them from abroad and ship them to the city. Tyrion was planning to sell the Iron bank their wood (even in winter, trees were the only thing that Westeros didn’t lack of, and they all belonged to the King) at a very convenient price, so that they could send it in Braavos and have a huge profit margin. This would reinforce the alliance between the Crown and the Iron Bank, and serve as a warranty for a further loan.  
Or at least so he hoped.  
He had to define a realistic proposal to the Bank emissary, so he had taken two horses and left for the woods near King’s Landing with Podrick.  
-Is there something that I can do to help you, my lord?- Sansa asked. She did want to help him.  
-Actually yes, there is something that you could do. We need to welcome the Bank envoy, so need to have the servants set up some quarters for him. And we need to organise a supper, nothing too splendid because we need to show him we’re saving money, but still he has to feel like an honoured guest. –Tyrion sighed -The Gods know how it will be difficult to convince him of our good faith after my sister treated them like annoying beggars. ..- he looked at her intently, with his mismatched eyes- Could you do that, if you please?-  
He’s asking for my help, thought Sansa. He’s putting his trust in me.  
No one had done it, after her father…  
-Yes, my lord. Of course.- she said, after a moment’s hesitation.  
Sansa was afraid to fail.  
But she found she liked to be in charge. With all the court gone to the wedding in Highgarden, she was the only highborn lady, and for the first time, she was the one to take decisions.  
Not very crucial decisions, she knew, but still…  
Sansa prepared comfortable quarters for the Braavosi, and consulted the cooks and bakers about the supper. She had been trained all her life for these tasks. It was thrilling to do something she was actually good at.  
She remembered that some years before, Tyrion had offered to take her to Casterly Rock. She wasn’t particularly interested at that point (she still thought that Dontos would spirit her away to Winterfell), but, now that she thought about it, it actually didn’t sound that bad.  
Far from Joffrey, and Cersei, and Margaery too, and her reluctant charity of friendship, and lady of an household.  
She was a lady, after all: she didn’t have Margaery’s family, nor her wealth, but she had Tyrion.  
He was her ally now. Perhaps he had been all along.  
She didn’t need to be alone against Joffrey. She could stop being a powerless pawn, and become a player.  
She didn’t really know what to play for, true, but she decided she wasn’t just going for survival from now on.  
That night she slept alone, because Tyrion would come back the day after. The bed felt strangely empty and cold without him.  
Sansa found she missed his embrace… and his kisses too. It had nothing to do with Joffrey’ threat anymore.  
The nights before they had kissed and touched, and Sansa had found herself aching for more.  
He was always very controlled now, caressing her lightly on her breasts and her hips, but she half wished for him to grab her urgently as he had done that one time.  
The day after, Tyrion arrived almost at sunset, covered in snow and mud, and flushed after the long ride.  
He felt optimistic too: he had found from the woodcutters that there was a way to make the wood travel via river to the harbour, which surely made things easier.  
He then shut himself in the cabinet to revise some counts.  
Around midnight, Sansa decided to go and see him, bringing bread, olives and fruits for him. She knew from the kitchens that he didn’t have any kind of supper.  
Tyrion welcomed her with a smile when she entered the room. She remembered finding his smiles sinister and gruesome due to the missing nose, but she liked them now.  
He looked tired and bleary-eyed.  
-You should get some sleep, my lord-said Sansa- You can finish the work on the morrow.-  
Tyrion nodded in agreement:-I will, I just… need to finish to write this tonight. I’ll sleep as soon as I’m done here.-  
Sansa sat on the couch. She didn’t like the idea of going back to her bedchamber alone. She was too nervous to sleep. On the morrow the Bank envoy would arrive to King’s Landing and she hoped that he would be pleased by his quarters and their hospitality, and that he would accept Tyrion’s business proposal… There were so many thoughts in her head, she didn’t feel she could just go to the bed and sleep.  
-Can I wait for you here? – she asked.  
Tyrion looked at her in surprise:-It might take a while. Go to sleep, there’s no need…-  
-Please- she cut in- I’d rather stay here. If you please, my lord.-  
Again, she couldn’t read his expression, but she thought he looked somewhat happy.  
She picked up a book about dragons (there were at least a dozen on the shelf) and started reading. She could hear Tyrion’s pen scribbling on the parchment. She liked to feel him close, even if they weren’t talking.  
After a while, she laid her head on the couch. In the cushions lingered the pleasant scent of Tyrion’s hair. Sansa wondered how many times he had slept there.  
She kept reading until her eyes closed and she dozed off.  
She woke up feeling Tyrion climbing onto the couch next to her.  
-What time is it?- she asked.  
-Almost dawn- he answered, holding her.  
She yawned:-Promise me you’ll move everything to the solar, when this is finished.-  
-I gladly promise.-  
He looked exhausted, but his heart was beating fast and his muscles were tense.  
She turned to face him and stroked his hair:-It will be alright, I’m sure.-  
He let out a dry chuckle, as to contradict her, but instead he changed subject: -You were reading Septon Barth’s Unnatural History. Did you like it?-  
Sansa thought about it:-Yes, but there were parts I didn’t understand. It seems like there is something missing.-  
-There is, actually. Baelor the Blessed had ordered all Barth’s writings destroyed when he came to the Iron Throne. That’s the only surviving fragment I’ve ever found.-  
-But Baelor the Blessed was a great king and probably thought that the book would upset …-  
-I know, I know- he said, smiling - But I’m afraid I will never be one of Baelor’s admirers.-  
She kept stroking his hair, feeling him relaxing.  
-I wish you had met my brother Bran. He liked scary stories too. He would have loved to read these dragon tales. You remind me a bit of him.- It was true. Tyrion and Bran had the same curiosity about what was hidden and possibly forbidden. She felt tears prickling her eyes. She missed him, but she didn’t want to block all thoughts of him, as she used to do. Remembering him made her feel a mix of sorrow, and joy, and melancholy.  
-I did meet Bran once.- Tyrion, unexpectedly, said.  
-Did you? I…don’t remember. Was that before he fell?-  
-No, it was later. When I was coming back from the Wall. Your brother Jon had asked me to help him and I brought him a drawing of a special saddle, so that he could ride also without using the legs.-  
Bran, thought Sansa. Bran that loved to climb, and ride, and wanted to be a knight. Bran the cripple.  
-Do you…. do you think he managed to use it?-she felt a single tear streaming down her cheek.  
-I think so. He was surely eager to try, and your master thought it was a good idea. I think he had all the time to learn to ride again before… before.- he finished, sounding uneasy.  
She could almost see him, riding again in his special saddle with the wind in his hair. In her vision, he was happy again. He wasn’t the gaunt figure she had kissed goodbye before leaving, but he looked like the healthy boy he once had been.  
She couldn’t contain the tears, but felt strangely happy too: -Thank you, Tyrion.-  
He wiped off her tears with his blunt thumb:-It was my pleasure.-  
They said nothing, but held each other until they both fell asleep.

 

 

Tycho Nestoris, the Braavosi envoy, was the tallest man Sansa had ever seen. He reminded her of Arya’s dance teacher, who was Braavosi too. There was something similar in their features.  
He looked wary, as if he had expected an unfriendly welcome.  
Tyrion let Sansa do the courtesies that came so easily to her: she asked him about his journey, complimented him for his perfect mastering of the Common Tongue and chatted with him about Braavos.  
He seemed to appreciate the quarters she had set up for him, which made her feel relieved.  
He definitely looked surprised, and, she hoped, well-disposed towards them.  
They supped in their solar, with cheese, a broth of crab and monkfish, greens dressed with apples and pine nuts, mustard-stout eggs, steaks marinated in mead and wrapped in boar bacon, lamprey pie with buttered parsnips and wine-poached pears. They finished the meal with strongwine and lemoncakes, that the envoy seemed to love, since he ate three of them.  
Then Tyrion and Nestoris started talking about business.  
-My lord, what you ask is impossible, I’m afraid- sighed the Braavosi -The Iron Bank is very pleased with your repayment plan, but a further loan right now is very risky-  
Sansa felt her heart sink at those words, but Tyrion didn’t sound dispirited.  
Pouring the envoy more wine, he started explaining the wood sell proposal producing an enormous amounts of parchments with details and figures. They debated the conditions for at least three hours, in which Tyrion’s ability to hold his drink was put to test.  
When the first flagon of fine Arbor wine was almost finished, Tyrion looked at Sansa, who discretely asked the servants for more wine.  
Three flagons later, Nestoris drew a parchment and Tyrion finally signed it. Sansa could scarcely hold her joy but did her best to keep her composure. Tyrion looked unimpressed, but she could see how he held his fist tight.  
The Iron Bank envoy looked unsteady on his feet when he left the room.  
When he was out of earshot, Tyrion let out a cry of joy and lifted Sansa off her feet, holding her by her waist and making her spin, his face pressed against her belly. Sansa laughed and felt her cheeks burning with colour.  
-My lady, you will be the safety of the realm, one lemoncake at a time!- Tyrion said, letting her go.  
She impulsively held his face between her hands and kissed him fully on the lips, feeling something stirring inside her.  
Varys entered the room:-Oh. How untactful of me. I didn’t mean to interrupt.- he exclaimed.  
Tyrion turned to him and cleared his throat:- Let me guess. A little bird has just whispered to you that the Iron Bank accepted to lend us money. Honestly, how do you do it? We were here, and we barely know it!-  
Varys took a glass off the table and poured himself some wine:-I'm afraid I can't tell you all of my secrets. I can just offer you my congratulations.- he lifted the glass.  
-Mind you, it's less than I had planned. And Nestoris chaffered as much as he could... He's good at his work, that one!- replied Tyrion- But it's a start.-  
Afterwards, they talked some more and drank, and even Brella and Podrick had a glass too. Pod went so red faced that Sansa wondered if he ever had drunk wine at all.  
Varys was an amiable company, in his own mysterious way.  
Sansa laughed and talked and for the first time in years felt like she belonged with the people in the room.  
When everybody left, Tyrion and Sansa moved to the bedchamber.  
He kicked off his boots and climbed onto the bed:-I'm drunk.- he announced.  
Sansa felt her head swimming:-So am I- she said, snuggling close to him.  
He cocked his head:-Why, is it befitting a lady to be stinking drunk?-  
She pretended to ponder the question:-Absolutely. An armour of courtesy and demeanour surely benefits from large amounts of alcohol-  
-Good.- he kissed her, and Sansa felt the taste of strongwine.  
Maybe it was the wine, but he wasn't tense and controlled this time: he kissed her and touched her with passion and eagerness. She found she liked it better this way.  
His hands started fumbling at the laces of her gown, so she helped him and started undressing him too, until they were both giggling for their clumsiness. Finally, they were both naked. She broke the kiss to look at him: in his eyes there was the same hunger she had seen on their wedding night, but it didn't scare her anymore. If anything, it made her feel fuzzy.  
His body was always small, scarred, twisted as it was that night... but it was also warm, and smelled so good! This time she noticed also how strong his arms were. There was golden hair on his chest and she stroked it, feeling it coarse. She dreamed about Loras' hairless chest once, she remembered, slightly embarrassed, but she discovered that she liked Tyrion's chest hair even more.  
He was staring at her, with a mixture of lust and amazement, as if he couldn't believe what she was doing. In fact, she could scarcely believe it herself.  
-You're beautiful- he muttered.  
He pushed her softly onto the pillows and pressed his whole body over her. It was an intoxicating feeling.  
It's finally about to happen!  
Tyrion kissed her neck, her shoulders and her breasts, sucking on her nipples and making her shiver with excitement. She spread her legs, to increase their contact, and felt his manhood pushing between her thighs, until...  
-Wait.- Tyrion exclaimed, pulling away from her.  
-No, but... why?- she protested.  
He sounded breathless: -Because there's still... something that we need to do.-.  
Sansa pulled him against her:-You just want to tease me.-  
Tyrion smiled mischievously and cupped her breast, resuming the kissing:-That's been precisely my design all along.-.  
“You have to desire it, with your body as well as your mind”, she remembered him saying. Only a month before, she thought it was impossible for her (for anyone!) to desire Tyrion that way, but now...  
His hand travelled to her hips, stroked the delicate skin of her inner thighs, until his fingers found a hidden point between them and started rubbing it, with slow circular movements.  
Sansa closed her eyes: nothing had ever felt so good... she wondered briefly where Tyrion had learnt that. But then he started drawing a line of light kisses from her breast, to her stomach, to her inner thighs, until his tongue replaced his fingers. This felt even better: every single contact made waves of delight irradiate from her groin to her belly, to her whole body.  
He kept licking and at some point she felt intense pangs of pleasure, almost impossible to bear, and she shuddered and gasped; he didn't stop until her body relaxed again.  
She had never felt anything so intense.  
He climbed up and rested his head on the pillow next to her, staring at as if expecting her to say something.  
It took her a moment to find her breath again:- My septa didn't tell me about this.- she said eventually.  
That made him burst out laughing and kiss her on the lips.  
She realized that his manhood was still hard and she smiled thinking back of her fear that it wouldn't work.  
She knew that men could relieve themselves using their hands... actually it was difficult to ignore this fact, having lived under the same roof as Theon Greyjoy.  
She wanted Tyrion to feel pleasure too, so she tentatively gripped his man staff and stroked it.  
Tyrion took her hand and adjusted her grip, leading it up and down: there was still that look on his face, like disbelief and fascination. His mismatched eyes were as wide as platters.  
She wondered how she could have thought his manhood ugly on their wedding night.  
She had expected it to feel slimy, like some kind of eel; instead it was dry, except on the head, where there was moisture, and its skin was as delicate as silk.  
Sansa moved her other hand lower, and stroked the skin beneath his golden hair: this felt different, thicker and almost wrinkly. She caressed it, fascinated, until Tyrion let out an heavy breath and started spilling his seed over her hands. She was so surprised that she almost let go at once: but Tyrion placed hastily his hand over hers, and showed her the rhythm that he wanted.  
He's feeling what I felt, thought Sansa, watching the pure bliss on his face. That made her feel strangely proud of herself.  
Then, he helped her cleaning her hands, and covered her face with kisses. He started tickling her until she grew breathless from laughter, and she had to tickle him back to make him stop. They fell back on the bed, both flushed and out of breath. He looked ecstatic.  
That's what he wants, she realized. There was lust, surely, but above all Tyrion wanted to feel desired, accepted... loved. That's why he didn't just take her maidenhood at once. He wanted her to laugh and be happy to be with him.  
She held him close, stroking his sweaty hair and thinking that even his sweat had a sweet scent.

 

 

She woke up hours later, when the pale winter sun was already high in the sky.  
For the first time in years, she found that Tyrion was still asleep next to her, his arm still clenched around her waist, as if he was afraid to let her go.  
Sunlight filtered through the curtains, illuminating him. It made his hair shine and she fully realized how handsome he was.  
His skin was beautiful. His eyelashes. His jaw, his neck, his collarbone. His shoulders, his arms, his wrists.  
His body was not like that of other men, but it made no matter. If he was any different, he wouldn't be him anymore, and there was nothing that she would have changed about him. Perhaps that's what Septa Mordane meant when she used to say that all men are beautiful.  
Sansa had always thought that being intimate with an husband would have been somewhat solemn, serious... that it would have made her feel like a true grown up.  
She never imagined it could be playful and silly: she couldn't picture her parents tickling each other in bed. But then Tyrion was nothing like her father, and in this case she was glad about it.  
He had been wounded so many times, by Sansa herself too, but he was still willing to try, to put his heart at stake, to risk again. She used to pity him, but now she admired him.  
It was his vulnerability that made her love him.  
He opened his eyes and looked at her hesitantly, still half asleep.  
Sansa kissed him on the lips, and he responded eagerly, deepening the kiss.  
-Tyrion- she said, when their lips parted- will you take my maidenhood today?-  
He smiled:-Yes.-

 

Later that day, Cersei stepped off the travelling carriage, thanking the Gods that the nightmarish journey had finished. The Tyrell cripple had insisted on giving Tommen one of his dog puppies, and his son had refused to travel without it, which resulted in having the carriage smelling and constantly full of the monster's barks.  
She had been sorely tempted to shove the little bugger off the window, but Tommen didn't let go of it. Lord Muzzle, he had called it.  
She wondered what was wrong with that boy... it was only a dog. He could have as many dogs as he wanted in King's Landing.  
Cersei was also annoyed because Margaery and her family had convinced Joffrey to stay back at Highgarden with them for a couple more weeks. The little schemer said she wanted to show him the beauties of the Reach, no doubt an excuse to get him away from his mother’s good advice and manipulate him. The crone, Olenna, mentioned some frivolous activities, like a hunting trip…  
Never mind. Joffrey would come back soon. Meanwhile she was back at the Red Keep, and blissfully close to a hot bath.  
Cersei entered the Red Keep and saw that gargoyle of her brother and the Stark girl walking down a corridor. They politely welcomed her back.  
There was something strange about the girl: she looked... different.  
There was colour on her cheeks, and her eyes shined.  
She turned to see them walking away, and when the twisted demon told her something she laughed- a true laughter, not just a polite smile as she always did.  
Cersei intercepted Varys:-The Stark girl looks exceedingly happy to see us coming back. I hope she hasn't been too lonely in the past days.-  
-Oh, not at all, Your Grace- beamed the eunuch- In fact, a little bird has whispered to me a remarkable fact that occurred this very morning...-

 

THE END


End file.
